Chuck In a Moment, Chapter 14: "Window In the Skies"

9:15 A.M., Central Standard Time
Saturday, August 15th, 2009
Lac la Plonge Auxiliary Air Field, Saskatchewan, Canada

Chuck Bartowski wasn’t quite sure why he was awake. He hadn’t fallen asleep until close to 6:00 A.M., so just over three hours of sleep was certainly nowhere even close to enough.

Veronica had cried herself out around midnight, and fallen asleep herself around 1:00 A.M. Chuck had tried to fall asleep, but the sounds of Veronica’s voice from the day before wouldn’t stop running through his head.

And now he was awake again. He found himself with decidedly murderous intentions running through his head. As far as he was concerned, Martin Ducard was the walking dead.

Veronica had fallen asleep still completely dressed the night before, in a sweater and a pair of jeans. That couldn’t have possibly been comfortable – but Chuck couldn’t blame her.

He sighed. He was going to have to go out of his way to avoid his morning guilt trip. Veronica was going to need him to be normal and sane this morning. He couldn’t be wallowing in his own self-pity today.

It was about another five minutes of lying there before she began to move. She slowly stretched out her arms, then lifted her head and opened her eyes. A tiny smile crossed her mouth as she looked at Chuck.

“Hi,” she whispered. Chuck didn’t say anything, just looked at her and smiled.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then Chuck spoke. “How are you feeling?”

She sighed. “Violated,” she replied. “Not the first time.”

Chuck raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her. “You’re taking it surprisingly well,” he said softly.

“Not really,” Veronica said, slowly shaking her head. “This is what’s called coping. You know, when you’ve been raped, and then somebody tries to do it a second time… when your best friend gets murdered… when you see somebody jump off of a fourteen story hotel right in front of you…”

She sighed again. “You learn how to deal.”

Chuck shook his head. “God,” he breathed. “You are made of some strong stuff.”

Veronica smiled. “Gotta compensate for my small size somehow.”

---

About forty minutes later, both of them had cleaned up and were feeling more human. Veronica was slowly nursing one of her bottled frappucinos, while Chuck had gone straight to the source and popped open a Rockstar.

Neither of them was expecting a knock at the door, but when it came, Veronica nearly jumped out of her skin. Chuck could hardly blame her – the knock at the door this time yesterday… well, he was assuming that was a trip she’d rather forget.

But the person at the door today was the incognito Bryce Larkin. “Good morning, Mr. Bartowski,” he said, holding a finger to his lips. Pulling a device that looked like a cell phone from his pocket, he hit three buttons, and a green light immediately started blinking on it.

“Bug jammer,” he explained, walking into the cabin. “The four of us can talk freely now.”

“The four of us?” Chuck asked. “You have a monkey in your pocket, perhaps?”

“No,” Bryce replied. “The fourth is coming in with breakfast.”

That’s when Carina Hansen walked in. She was also dressed in a Canadian Air Force uniform, her hair pulled up underneath the cap, but that didn’t slow her down one bit. “Hello, Chuck,” she said, her usual flirtatious smile right where it always was.

Veronica’s eyes widened at the voice. She turned around and saw Carina. “YOU!” she gasped, standing up and pointing.

“Oh, Jesus,” Carina groaned. “Insane blonde pixie alert. Please tell me she left her howitzer at home, Chuck.”

Chuck nodded. “Congratulations, Carina, you win the insensitive bitch of the day award, and it’s only 10:00.”

Carina looked at him with what appeared to be a real look of offense. “Excuse me?” she asked. “I come here with Bryce for the express purpose of rescuing your ass. I bring you breakfast, and this is the thanks I get?”

Chuck crooked his finger, indicating that Carina should come to him. She did, setting the two to-go boxes she carried down on the table.

As Chuck whispered an explanation in her ear, Veronica opened one of the boxes. “Wow,” she said. “Pancakes made by somebody other than me!”

“We grabbed some food from the mess,” Bryce replied, as Chuck backed away from Carina. Carina’s facial expression had gone from annoyed to horrified.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Veronica.”

Veronica looked down at the table. “It’s okay,” she said quietly.

“No,” Carina replied, “no, it’s not! You can’t just tell yourself that!”

Bryce looked confused. “I’m lost,” he said. “What the hell is going on?”

Chuck sighed and closed his eyes. “Yesterday, Veronica was taken to see the base doctor, this guy named Martin Ducard.”

“Yeah, I know who he is,” Bryce said. “He’s the one who put the bugs in here.”

“Right,” Chuck replied. “Anyway, he told Veronica that she was a month pregnant, and then…”

Chuck stopped for a moment. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and blew it out again. “Then he restrained her, and aborted the pregnancy against her will.”

Bryce’s face froze. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even breathe for a moment. Finally, he slowly blew out his breath. “My God,” he whispered. “What a sick bastard.”

“Dead man walking, as far as I’m concerned,” Carina said softly.

Bryce closed his eyes. “I… I seriously think I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered, crossing the kitchen to the sink. He bent over it, but nothing happened. He took one deep breath, then another, and stayed bent over. “Do you have some water?”

Chuck opened the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle, and passed it to Bryce. Bryce twisted it open, took a swig, swished it around in his mouth, and spat it out in the sink. Then he leaned back and took a long drink of it.

Then a confused look crossed his face. “Wait a second,” he said. “She was pregnant?”

Uh-oh. This was a moment Chuck had not been waiting for. “So, you…” Bryce pointed at Chuck.

“Well, it wasn’t an immaculate conception,” Veronica deadpanned, trying to put some levity into the situation.

“Chuck,” Bryce said, a note of anger entering his voice, “correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you ENGAGED?”

“I didn’t have a choice, Bryce!” Chuck replied, a cold fury tinting his voice. “Doctor Ducard was going to KILL her if I didn’t!”

Bryce raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know what goes on up here, Bryce?” Chuck asked, and then plowed ahead, without waiting for an answer. “It’s what they call the ‘Humanity Project’. They’re trying to breed the ‘perfect human’. If you ask me, it sounds a lot like the ‘Final Solution’!”

Now Chuck had a full head of steam. “You know, you know my grandparents on my dad’s side, they would’ve been sent to Auschwitz-Birkenau if they hadn’t escaped from Warsaw, and, and ended up in Florida? Well, that’s what this is! This is like the Canadian Auschwitz! That’s what Fulcrum’s doing! They don’t want the Intersect, they want the goddamn Aryan Nation!”

Chuck’s face was bright red, and he was breathing in great, heaving gasps. “Chuck,” Carina said quietly, “calm down, okay?”

Chuck’s face twisted in furious disbelief as he turned his rage on her. “Why the hell should I calm down?!”

“Because you’re about to start hyperventilating,” she replied, stepping towards him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “You need to breathe, and sit down, before you hurt yourself.”

Chuck blew out his breath in a great huff, and collapsed in a chair. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “This just… it all makes me so angry. And worst of all is what he did to Veronica… and I couldn’t do anything to stop him.”

He looked like he was going to say something more, but at that moment, the device on Bryce’s belt started beeping. “Oh, shit,” Bryce muttered. “Ducard’s in the clinic. We’ve got to go.”

Bryce hit a button, and the green light on the device stopped flashing. He headed toward the door, and pulled it open. Carina walked out the door, but Bryce turned back to Chuck.

“Tomorrow,” he said, and then he too walked out, closing the door behind him.

Chuck looked after them for a moment, and then his head drooped, falling into his hands. He just sat there for a moment, not doing anything. It was only when his shoulders heaved upwards that Veronica realized he was crying.

She quickly pulled up a chair next to him and sat down, putting an arm around him. “Hey,” she whispered. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“You would’ve been better off if you’d never met me,” Chuck choked out. “You, Sarah, Casey, Bryce – all of you.”

“No,” Veronica replied firmly. “You’re wrong. We’re all better off for knowing you. You’re an incredible man. Everybody should be so lucky as to have you for a friend.”

Chuck didn’t say anything. His problem was so much deeper than Veronica thought. It wasn’t just guilt. It went so far beyond just that.

He felt like his heart was slowly being ripped in half.

---

11:30 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time
John Wayne International Airport, Santa Ana, California

Sarah Walker slowly walked through the retired Starlifter. The cargo area was packed with vehicles – Crown Vics and Suburbans parked side by side, bumper to bumper. They were already loaded with weapons.

The FBI’s UH-1H Huey was stowed at the very end of the cargo hold, by the huge loading door, its rotors folded, its tail extended over the very front row of Balboa County Sheriff’s Crown Vics. The helicopter, just like all the vehicles, was securely anchored so that it wouldn’t shift a millimeter in flight.

She went forward, to where jump seats had been bolted down for the sixty-three people who would be going on this mission. Sarah looked at the starboard bulkhead, and noticed that it appeared to be covered in scratches.

When she looked more closely, though, she realized that it wasn’t just random scratches – it was actually engravings. Cocking her head, she tried to make sense of them. After a moment, they became clear.

Each engraving included the name of a soldier, the outfit he was attached to, a date, and a destination. The latest date that Sarah found said, “PFC Rodney Mitchell, USMC 1/7, 3/19/03, Iraq”.

Sarah was intrigued by this flying wall of history she had stumbled upon. She kept reading the engravings, finding some that were more than forty years old, some that were within the last ten years.

Then she found two that were totally unexpected. One came as a surprise, one as a total shock. The surprising one read, “Cpt. John Casey, USAF 366 FW, 3/21/99, Kosovo”.

But the other one was something she never would’ve expected to see. When she read it, it felt like a shock of electricity had been sent down her spine. The engraving said, “SFC Sid Bartowski, USA 1/10 ACR, 11/29/67, Vietnam.”

“Can’t sleep either?”

Her head jerked around to the right. John Casey stood at the back row of seats. “Casey, you’ve got to take a look at this,” she said.

With a puzzled look on his face, Casey joined her, and bent down. She pointed out his own engraving first.

His eyes went wide. “I will be damned,” he said quietly. “This is my bird – Mad Martha!”

Sarah turned a strange look on him. “There were two crews that flew this plane during the Kosovo campaign in 1999,” he explained. “I was the pilot for the Blue Crew – we deadheaded on the way over to Kosovo, while the Gold Crew flew. I REMEMBER engraving this, too! I saw all the other engravings, and figured I should add my own.”

Sarah smiled. “Take a look at this one,” she told him, pointing to the engraving made by Sergeant First Class Sid Bartowski.

Casey peered at it closely, and then looked up at her. “You don’t think…”

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t just think, I know,” she replied. “Sid Bartowski, deployed November of 1967. Promoted to Master Sergeant February 1968, KIA June 17th, 1969. Had a son, Irving, born 1957, and a daughter, Marilyn, born 1963. Irving had two children – a daughter, Eleanor, born in 1979, and a son, Charles, born in 1981.”

Casey nodded, a rare smile coming to his face. “So Chuck’s grandfather is riding along for the rescue mission, huh?”

Sarah smiled back. “Hey, I’d say we can use all the help we can get on this one.”

Casey stood. “Come on, Walker, you need to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes it is,” she agreed. “A big day indeed.”

Chuck In a Moment, Chapter 13: "Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own"

Author's warning: this chapter is extremely dark, and potentially disturbing. It is not for the faint of heart.

---

10:04 A.M., Central Standard Time
Friday, August 14th, 2009
Lac la Plonde Auxiliary Air Field, Saskatchewan, Canada

Chuck and Veronica were sitting at the breakfast table. She had taken to making breakfast the last few days. Chuck seemed miserable, and she was trying to snap him out of it.

It broke her heart to see him the way he was. The Chuck Bartowski was a fun, vibrant person, and it was awful to see him in the funk he had slipped into.

But what broke her heart even more than that was the fact that she knew why he was so miserable. He was desperately, madly in love with Sarah, but his old feelings for Veronica were rearing their head, and he was trying to fight them off.

And that was the thing – she wasn’t sure what was breaking her heart, the fact that the feelings were making him miserable, or the fact that he WAS trying to resist them.

As selfish as she knew it was, she had had these hopes, deep down, that maybe something good would come of this whole thing – maybe it would bring him back to her. The three months that she and Chuck Bartowski had been together – never had she felt more loved, more cared for than she had during that short period of time.

He was so sweet about everything, too. During what he still insisted on calling their “mandatory daily activities”, he was always gentle, always patient. He never tried to rush it, and get it over with – but Veronica always sensed that part of him wasn’t there. She sensed that part of him was somewhere in southern California.

The knock on the door startled them both. They had both had routine weekly physicals the day before, and neither had expected to be taken anywhere for anything. They were both still in good health, both doing what they had to do.

Chuck got up, a puzzled look on his face. He crossed to the door and pulled it open. Corporal Hernandez and Airman Reynard stood there. “Doctor Ducard has asked to see Ms. Mars,” Hernandez said.

“Okay,” Chuck said with a shrug. He turned to Veronica. “Hey, the doctor needs to see us.”

“Uh, actually,” Hernandez interrupted him, “he just wanted to see Ms. Mars.”

“Oh,” Chuck replied. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like it one bit. But there wasn’t much he could do. “Uh, okay then.”

Veronica got up from the table. “I’ll be just a moment,” she told them, as she pulled her shoes on. And indeed, a moment later, she walked out the door, and headed to the Jeep Cherokee.

Hernandez and Reynard started to turn to follow her, but Chuck grabbed Hernandez’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said quietly. Hernandez turned back to face him. “Keep an eye on her, okay?”

Hernandez nodded. “I will, Mr. Bartowski.”

---

9:45 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Balboa County Sheriff’s Department
Neptune, California

Keith Mars didn’t like the way things were going at all. His deputies were getting edgy, anxious to leave.

But John Casey had said they weren’t leaving till he gave the word. He said that if they left too soon, it would be a disaster.

Keith had replied that Casey had no idea what it was like to have somebody you loved in as much danger as Veronica had to be in. Casey had looked back at him, shaken his head, and said, “You have no idea, Sheriff Mars.”

Keith had to find something with which to occupy himself, so he had started calling in markers from the San Diego County Sheriff, the Orange County Sheriff, and the Los Angeles County Sheriff. He arranged for them to conduct patrols of Balboa County while the sheriff’s department was away, although it took quite a bit of convincing to talk them into being prepared to do it on a moment’s notice.

Worse still, though, was what the waiting was doing to Logan Echolls. Keith had, on more than one occasion, left the county building fairly late, and seen Logan still there, only to return the next morning to find him there, wearing the same clothes he had the day before. On those days, he always had a deputy walk Logan out to a squad car, drive him home, and force him to get at least four hours worth of sleep.

This morning had been one more of those cases. Keith shook his head and took a drink of his coffee. Poor Logan. He’d never truly gotten over Veronica. He’d done his best to just be her friend, but his feelings for her ran too deep.

Keith rolled his eyes. Never had he thought he’d feel sorry for Logan Echolls. But he had something in common with Logan – he loved Veronica, and he was pretty anxious to go after her.

---

The Avalon Hotel
Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, California

A cold fury burned inside of Sarah Walker as she attacked the punching bag. She went after it with a forcefulness that she hadn’t let loose in years.

The familiar strains of Rage Against the Machine’s “Killing In the Name Of” filled the suite, fueling the anger. She beat at the punching bag as if it were her worst enemy –

Or as if it were a certain flame haired DEA agent slut. Bryce had called her the night they crossed into Canada, and though she was sure it was unintentional, he had let slip something Carina had told him.

He told her that Carina had slept with Chuck the night of Sarah’s own memorial service. That just pissed her off beyond measure.

She didn’t blame Chuck. Chuck had thought she was dead, after all. He was seeking comfort, and Carina was offering it. She had to wonder about his choice in judgment, but she wasn’t going to fault him for it.

No, only one person was going to be faulted. That was DEA Agent Carina Hansen. Sarah was going to finish the mission, and then she was going to put Carina’s ass through a wall.

---

11:33 A.M., CST
Lac la Plonde

Chuck was midway through the fifth episode of Moonlight when there was a pounding on the front door. “What the hell?” he muttered as he stood up and crossed to the door. The pounding came again, more insistent this time. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” he shouted.

He pulled open the door and was greeted with a shocking sight. Corporal Hernandez and Airman Reynard were both back – but they both looked like they’d seen the end of the world.

A strange high pitched noise sounded faintly in Chuck’s ears. It sounded almost like an animal howling, but he could neither place it nor figure out where it was coming from. “Guys, what’s going on?” he asked.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. “HERNANDEZ. Say something.”

The corporal’s chin shook as he forced his mouth open. “I… I just… I heard it,” he stammered. “I didn’t s-see anything… but R-Reynard did-d.”

Reynard looked like he was about to go into shock. “Reynard?” Chuck asked, growing more and more alarmed with each passing second. “What did you see?”

“Uh… uh, I-I saw Agent Mars… she, she, uh, she went into Ducard’s office. She went into his office, and he left the d-door partially op… open. He t-told her that he had g-gone over her phys, her physical from the day before, and…”

Reynard paused and inhaled a great heaving breath. “And he told her that she was pregnant. Th-then he did a, a, a, you know, the sound thingy…”

“An ultrasound,” Chuck breathed. Had he heard correctly?!

“He d-did an ultrasound… and then, then he strapped her down… and he took it.”

Chuck felt like an anvil had been dropped on his head. “What?”

“Oh, God, it was awful,” Reynard sobbed. “He took, he took this tube, and he stuck it inside her, and then… then he sucked it out! He took it, and, and he st-stuck it in a j-j-jar!”

Reynard collapsed to his hands and knees, and vomited on the porch. Hernandez looked like death warmed over.

Chuck felt like he had just died. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. And then he heard it again – that high pitched wailing.

“What’s that noise?” he whispered, even though he was already pretty sure he knew exactly what it was.

“That’s Agent Mars,” Hernandez replied softly. “Oh my God, what have we done?”

Hernandez continued standing on the porch, staring at the front door with vacant eyes. Chuck started to walk toward the Jeep, then ran. He wrenched open the back door – and was assaulted by the primal scream that ripped forth from Veronica’s throat.

“Veronica!” he said, horrified. “Oh God, what did he do to you?”

He reached in, unbuckled her seatbelt, and gathered her into his arms. She felt almost as light as a feather.

Almost as soon as he touched her, she stopped screaming. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed so tightly he thought she was going to cut off his breathing.

Chuck ran back toward the cabin, past Hernandez and Reynard, and took Veronica into the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed, and then turned back toward the living room.

“NO!” Veronica howled. Chuck turned back around, terrified by the sound of her voice.

“Please… don’t go…” she begged in a broken voice.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, not able to muster his own voice. “I swear.”

Chuck went back to the front door, stepped out on the porch, and shut the door behind him. Reynard was finally getting back to his feet.

Chuck took a deep breath and looked at the two of them. “Where are your families?”

“My parents moved to Florida five years ago,” Reynard replied, his voice empty.

“Cuba,” Hernandez replied simply.

“Then get out,” Chuck told them. “You have to get as far from this place as you can. It’s going to fall eventually, and you can’t be here when that happens. Go back to your barracks, get your things, take that Jeep, and get as far away as you can.”

“Where would we go?” Hernandez asked, his voice distant.

“Go to Los Angeles,” Chuck said, trying to make his thoughts override the raging emotions in his brain. “Go to the town of Neptune, and see a man named Logan Echolls. Tell him you know me. He’ll help you.”

Reynard turned his gaze on Chuck. “Why are you trying to help us?”

What was Chuck supposed to say? “I don’t know,” he said. “I just think you’re good people. Please, prove me right.”

Reynard and Hernandez both turned without a word, without a backward glance, and walked back to the Jeep. They got in and drove away, leaving a cloud of dust.

Chuck backed through the door, closing it as he went. He turned, and walked into the bedroom.

Veronica lay on the center of the bed, curled in a ball. Her body was wracked with silent sobs, and every so often, a wordless cry of anguish would burst forth.

Chuck sat down on the bed next to her. He reached out an arm, put it around her shoulders – and she practically crawled onto him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders and his left arm around her back, hugging her tightly against him.

He realized his own face was wet with tears. His mind raged. Nobody should have to experience that. Nobody, not ever.

They didn’t move for hours.

---

4:00 P.M., PDT
Neptune, California

“Our agent is in place,” Casey announced. A round of applause greeted the declaration.

“He will hopefully make contact either tonight or tomorrow,” he continued. “As soon as he does, he’ll send his signal. If we get his signal within the next twenty-four hours, we take off on Sunday morning.”

He paused. “I am very proud to stand here before you, all citizens, all volunteers, willing to risk everything to go rescue two people. It’s on a day like today that I’m proud to be an American.”

John Casey grinned, and the applause was practically deafening.

---

5:30 PM, CST
Lac la Plonge

Chuck had stayed by Veronica’s side all afternoon, holding her close as she cried. Torturous, anguished sobs spilled out of her, over and over, until she finally fell asleep.

Even then, he stayed with her, holding her as she slept. He could only pray that she would have a peaceful, dreamless sleep, that the events of that morning would not haunt her unconscious mind as well.

Then there was a knock on the door. Chuck nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard it. A knock at the door was the last thing he wanted to hear, after what had happened that day.

When he answered it, though, an unfamiliar face greeted him. A man in a Canadian Air Force uniform stood there. He had a mustache, a full beard, a short, spiky haircut, and aviator sunglasses. “Mr. Bartowski,” he said.

That voice. It sounded familiar… but Chuck couldn’t place it. “Can I talk to you for a moment, outside, please?” the Canadian airman asked.

Chuck just nodded and stepped outside. The airman reached behind him and closed the door. Then he turned and faced Chuck. “It’s good to see you, Chuck,” he said, as he removed the sunglasses.

Chuck nearly had a heart attack. The sunglasses, the beard, the mustache, the haircut – they had all made him look different. But it was the eyes. There was no mistaking the eyes.

A smile almost found its way to his lips, but thoughts of the day pushed it away.

“It’s good to see you, too, Bryce.”

Chuck In a Moment, Chapter 12: "Bullet the Blue Sky"

The prep work for the mission took forever.

Keith Mars wanted to vet each and every one of his deputies first. He wanted to make sure that they were willing to take part in a mission that could land them in jail for the rest of their lives.

It turned out that all of his deputies held a certain amount of affection for Keith’s daughter. Even the ones who had been loyal to Don Lamb seemed to care for Veronica.

And so, Keith Mars had himself thirty-two deputies who were ready to invade Canada. Rick Pope’s twenty-man anti-gang task force brought the total number of invading police officers up to fifty-two.

But then, on July 18th, during a strategy briefing at the Balboa County Sheriff’s Office, a group of eight men in suits walked into the briefing room. “FBI,” said one of them, holding up a badge.

“Can we help you?” Sheriff Mars asked.

“Looks like you boys are planning to go somewhere,” the agent who spoke first said.

“Um, sir, I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Keith replied.

“Special Agent Marion Banks,” the agent stated. “We’re the FBI’s southern California hostage rescue team. We know from Rick Pope that you’re planning to go retrieve Chuck Bartowski and Veronica Mars from some air base in Canada.”

Keith looked at Sarah. He didn’t look like he knew what to say. Sarah stood up.

“Agent Banks, Agent Sarah Walker, Central Intelligence Agency,” she said. “Everything you’ve said is correct, but we can’t really discuss details.”

“Agent Walker, let me make something clear,” Agent Banks replied. “Agent Mars is one of ours. If somebody’s going to go get her, we’re damn well going with you.”

Keith raised his eyebrows. “An eight man specially trained FBI team?” he asked. “Uh, we could certainly use that help.”

Banks nodded, and strode forward to the front of the room. “Okay, what’s your mode of transport?”

“Uh, I got that,” Logan said, standing. “We’ve got a retired MC-141B Starlifter.”

Banks smiled. “Perfect. How much equipment are you putting in?”

“Four Suburbans and sixteen Ford Crown Victorias,” Keith said.

Agent Banks’ smile got a little bigger and he nodded. “More than enough room for a Huey,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

Banks spread his hands and began to explain. “Listen,” he replied, “we load in your vehicles, then we load in the helicopter, pre-fueled. The moment we land, we roll it out, deploy the rotors, and use it for aerial support during the assault. What do you think?”

“I think it’s an audacious plan,” John Casey interjected, speaking for the first time. “But I think we aren’t ready to deploy yet.”

“When will you be ready?”

“I don’t know,” Casey said, shaking his head. “We’ll let you know.”

---

“Why are we driving cross-country again?”

“I thought we’d been over this, like ten or twelve times.”

“So there are two agents in captivity in a foreign country. Like this is the first time that’s happened.”

“I’m sorry, I seem to recall that two agents once pulled your ass out of an Al Qaeda training camp.”

“Yeah, well, I was also a deep cover operative. We’re talking about an FBI agent, and… whatever it is that Chuck does.”

“He’s an analyst. You know that.”

“Sure, whatever. An analyst doesn’t have a CIA deep-cover and an NSA assassin assigned to keep watch over him from day one.”

“Is there something you have against Chuck?”

“Not in particular.”

“Come on, you’re not telling me the truth here. Something happened, and you’ve got something against him for some reason.”

“Fine. The night of Sarah’s memorial service, he came to my hotel room. He was a mess. I basically held him for a couple hours and let him cry his heart out.”

“Wow. That’s mighty charitable of you. You, of all people, having compassion for somebody?”

“Look, Sarah was my friend. One of the few I actually say that about. And honestly, the poor guy was heartbroken.”

“You’re leaving something out here. That’s not all that happened.”

“Yeah… you’re right.”

“What?”

“We slept together.”

Bryce Larkin’s eyes just about popped out of his head. “YOU WHAT?!”

Carina Hansen looked back at him. “We slept together. Had sex, got it on… fucked… am I getting the point across here?”

“I can’t believe you!” Bryce exploded. “You slept with Chuck the night of Sarah’s memorial service!”

“You know what?!” Carina shot back. “Fine. I’ll call it what it was. A pity screw. I felt sorry for him. I thought I’d try to make him feel a little better.”

“Did it?”

Carina shrugged. “Well, no.”

---

8:04 A.M., Central Standard Time
Monday, July 20th, 2009
Lac la Plonge Auxiliary Air Field, Saskatchewan, Canada

Chuck Bartowski had a serious problem.

He was starting to get used to waking up in the morning with Veronica Mars snuggled in the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder, her left arm thrown across his chest. It made him smile a little more each day to see the mess of blonde hair lying across his chest.

The problem with that was that about half an hour after he woke up every day, he had a horrible attack of guilt. Guilt over the fact that he was cheating on Sarah, whether or not it was to save somebody’s life. Guilt over the fact that he felt like he was leading Veronica on in the world’s most horrible way.

Worse than all of that was that Chuck KNEW that Veronica still had feelings for him, and he could tell, every time she looked at him, that she was growing hope that maybe those feelings he had needed to “resolve” were growing into something again.

And perhaps worst of all – she wasn’t entirely wrong. Those feelings he had hoped that he could make go away, that he had hoped he could resolve – they had come back in full force. Were they stronger than the way he felt about Sarah? Not even close. But the feelings were incredibly dangerous.

To distract him from what he felt like was ever-increasing insanity, Chuck had begun writing code for a new video game. He had already decided, this was going to be the mother of all games. He had tried to describe it to Veronica, calling it, “Part Call of Duty, part Grand Theft Auto, part Need for Speed, part Rainbow Six.” She had been bored.

Chuck had already coded and compiled the ten characters that one could choose from in order to complete missions. Some characters were going to be higher levels, and you had to complete certain missions in order to unlock them.

The basic characters – the ones he had decided to let people start with – were a short, slightly schlubby Latino guy with a beard and mustache, or a short, Italian girl with dark hair and a fiery temper. After completing level one, you could stick with one of those, or move on to the taller girl with Polish features and dark hair, or the tall, blonde surfer looking guy. After level two, you could pick the short, blonde girl with the dark blue eyes, or the tall guy with the curly brown hair. After level three, you could pick either the guy with the ice blue eyes, long brown hair, and slight five o’clock shadow, or you could pick the girl with the bright red hair and the sparkling emerald eyes. And when you unlocked the final level, you could pick either the tall, musclebound guy with dark hair and a LOT of guns, or you could pick the tall, blonde woman who looked like she could kick your ass at the drop of a hat.

Chuck was rather pleased with how much like the people who had inspired them he had made the characters. He was rather certain that Morgan would be shocked beyond recognition that he was even in a game.

The missions ranged from solving simple murder mysteries to invading a Las Vegas casino to overthrowing a foreign government. Chuck was rather certain that this game was going to be a hit – if he was ever able to get out of this place.

All those thoughts ran through his head in about two point five seconds – just long enough for Veronica to wake up. She looked up at Chuck, and a brilliant if sleepy smile spread across her face.

“Good morning, Chuck.”

---

11:00 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Thursday, July 23rd, 2009
The Avalon Hotel
Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, California

With a lack of a permanent residence, and not wanting to go back to Chuck’s apartment while he was gone, Sarah had returned to what had become her place of refuge – her suite at the Avalon Hotel. None of her things had been touched – in fact, the suite was still exactly as she had left it. The front desk clerk had informed her that as long as her American Express card was valid, she was most welcome at the Avalon Hotel.

A relatively long swim out in the Pacific hadn’t done anything to clear her head or soothe her nerves. She was hoping that repeating it the next morning would help somewhat.

Right at the moment, though, she needed to rest. Sarah walked around the suite, turning off every light, closing every blind, making sure the door was deadbolted and locked.

She stripped down in the pitch black suite, and collapsed naked onto her bed. She just lay there for a moment, not doing anything, letting the cool air wash over her skin.

As her eyelids grew heavy, Sarah scooted further up onto the bed, resting her head on the pillow. She closed her eyes, but her brain wouldn’t turn itself off.

She started to think – she had decided that this chain of events never would have unfolded had she not decided to pull that stupid, asinine stunt and jumped off the Vincent Thomas Bridge. John Casey had tried to convince her otherwise, but Sarah knew.

Sometimes she dreamed about how it would have been different, sometimes, she just felt like she could see. Like right now.

She could see Chuck taking her out on Valentine’s Day, two weeks after. She could see them going out to the Santa Monica Pier, just hanging out and having fun. She saw him being taken away, to a secure facility, and then saw herself and John Casey rushing in to save the day.

Some of the images made Sarah smile. She saw him on what must have been St. Patrick’s Day, dressed in a leprechaun outfit, leaping over the Nerd Herd counter at the Buy More, and kissing her like she was the last woman on Earth. She saw herself cuddled up next to him in the bed in her old hotel room in downtown Los Angeles, having a Firefly marathon.

It seemed like life could have been so happy. The thought of going with him to Comic-Con. The thought of him proposing to her, on the beach in Santa Monica, one year after they had met. She saw a wedding, at Griffith Observatory – she was dressed in a simple dress with just a hint of pink, and Chuck, dressed in a light blue shirt and khaki pants – but he looked incredible, like he always did.

She saw herself pregnant. With twins, even. She saw herself moving into a house with Chuck. She saw the twins being born – she even knew their names. John Marcus, and Lisa Erin.

Sarah sighed. She didn’t know where these visions came from. She didn’t know why they haunted her. She was engaged to Chuck. It was all still a possibility.

That’s why she had to get him back.

---

8:00 A.M., Eastern Daylight Time
Wednesday, July 29th, 2009
Highland Park, Detroit, Michigan

Bryce pulled off the road. They were stopped on a back street, far from where anybody would actually see them.

Making sure they were clear, he opened the trunk and lifted the mat covering the spare tire. Reaching halfway down the underside of the mat, he found the seam, and gently pulled it open.

Inside were a set of Nova Scotia license plates. According to John Casey, they’d been put into the database for Nova Scotia’s equivalent of the DMV to match the BMW 525 that Bryce was driving.

Grabbing the electric screwdriver from its spot in the tire well, Bryce worked quickly. He replaced the Kansas plates with the Nova Scotia plates, and then put the Kansas plates into the compartment in the mat, resealing the underside.

He tossed the screwdriver back into the tire well, and set the mat back down. After closing the trunk, he crossed back to the driver’s door and climbed inside.

Carina was sitting in the shotgun seat, looking at the atlas. “So, as far as I can tell, we could’ve pretty much just gone up into Omaha and shot straight up I-29 to Canada,” she remarked as they pulled away from the curb. “Any reason why we had to drive all the way to De-goddamn-troit and now we have to drive all the way around the Great Lakes and then back to Saskatchewan?”

“We have to be completely certain that nobody – and I mean NOBODY – knows who we are or where we are,” Bryce replied. “You know, there’s a lot of people in Fulcrum who would love to see me dead.”

“Come on, you’re hardly even recognizable as Bryce Larkin anymore,” Carina replied. “You honestly think they would be able to tell it’s you?”

“I take no chances,” Bryce replied. He turned onto the onramp for Michigan Highway 10, headed toward the bridge that would take them across the river into Windsor.

He looked over at Carina and grinned. “You ready to go kick some Canadian ass?”

She smiled back and nodded. “Oh yeah.”

Chuck In a Moment, Chapter 11: "With Or Without You"

7:00 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Monday, July 13th, 2009
Neptune, California

Boing.

Sarah Walker was slowly dragged from sleep. She kept her eyes squeezed tight shut. “Not yet,” she grumbled.

She had been dreaming about Chuck. He had been there with her – wherever they had been in the dream. But she knew when she opened her eyes, he would be gone.

Boing.

Sarah cracked an eye open. Sunlight was pouring into the room… where was she?

Boing.

She looked down. She was covered by a blanket, lying on a couch. She was still wearing the same clothes she had been wearing the day before.

Boing.

That’s right. She was at Logan Echolls’ house. She had fallen asleep the night before, while Logan, Casey, and Keith Mars talked in hushed tones about the retrieval operation. She hadn’t participated in the planning herself, her justification being that she had sworn to Director Graham that she’d be on her best behavior.

Boing.

What the hell was that noise?

Casting off the blanket, Sarah stood up and padded barefoot toward the noise. It seemed to be coming from the general direction of the kitchen.

As she passed into the kitchen the noise got louder. Stepping through the open back door, she saw a halfcourt, a regulation height basketball goal at the end. Casey, Logan, and Sheriff Mars appeared to be playing 21 or something similar.

Sarah stood on the edge of the halfcourt, a small smile appearing on her face. Casey pulled down a rebound, saw her standing there, and yelled, “Hey Walker! Think fast!”

The ball came flying toward her at a high rate of speed. However, Sarah, in her prior life, had been a pretty good basketball player, and snatched the ball out of midair with a minimum of effort. She cocked an eyebrow, pushed off lightly, and with a flick of her wrist, released a beautiful rainbow-arc three-point range shot.

A second later, the leather sphere fell through the hoop, making a slight swish noise as it passed through the nylon cords of the net. “Wow,” Casey said. “I never knew you had it in you, Walker.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Casey,” Sarah replied with a half smile on her face. “How long have you boys been up?”

“We never went to sleep, Agent Walker,” Keith Mars replied. “We’ve been up all night.”

“And we could have used your help,” Casey admonished her.

“Hey, Casey, your agency is lacking a director to report to right now,” Sarah replied. “Director Graham would tear a strip off of me if he thought I was helping to plan an invasion of Canada.”

Logan held up a hand. “Whoa, there. It’s not an invasion, per se.”

Sarah cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a bunch of armed people going into a Canadian military base with hostile intent. How is that not an invasion?”

“Legally,” Logan replied, wrinkling his nose. “They’re all civilians.”

“Gotcha,” Sarah said sarcastically. “So, what’s your grand plan?”

“Glad you asked,” Casey replied. “Come on inside.”

Sarah followed the men inside, back to the living room. Casey turned on the sixty-inch plasma TV that dominated one wall of Logan’s living room.

A PowerPoint presentation appeared on the TV screen. “Okay,” Casey began. “So, here’s the best picture we could find of Lac la Plonde Auxiliary Air Field.” He hit the space bar on his laptop.

A satellite image appeared on the screen. “So, from what we can tell,” Casey continued, “this is obviously a runway.” He pointed to the long grey strip that dominated the north end of the picture. “It’s about two miles long. Next to that, we have what appear to be residential units. There are twenty-five of those. Behind the residential units are facilities for command, munitions, barracks, logistics, medical, and so on.

“This is a tiny base,” he said. “We figure that all told, there are probably no more than 75 personnel on the base. Since it’s an Air Force base, their training probably isn’t all that great – and I should know, since I’m US Air Force Reserve.”

He hit the spacebar again. “As you can see here, there are thirty-two deputies employed by the Balboa County Sheriff’s Department. Of those thirty-two, ten have SWAT training, and fourteen are in either the National Guard or the Reserves. Sheriff Mars has also spoken with a friend of his, Commander Rick Pope of the Los Angeles Police Department’s Anti-Gang Task Force, and he has indicated his willingness to commit his twenty man special operations unit.”

Sarah shook her head. “Wait a second,” she said in disbelief. “You want to invade a Canadian Air Force Base with a bunch of cops?”

“Agent Walker,” Keith Mars interjected, “my deputies are among the best trained in the country. They have to be – Balboa County is one volatile place. The LAPD Anti-Gang Task Force – everybody on it has SWAT training. My cars are armored and have bulletproof glass, my men are trained in using assault weapons. They can take a bunch of flyboys no problem.”

“Your cars?” Sarah asked. “Are you telling me that you plan to drive a bunch of old Ford Crown Victorias all the way to northern Saskatchewan?”

“Actually, no,” Logan said. Casey hit the spacebar again, and a shot of three white-painted C-141B Starlifter aircraft appeared on the screen. “I own a company called Globemaster Airlines. It’s a cargo and charter airline that owns an old McDonnell Douglas DC-10 and three retired Lockheed C-141 Starlifters – the ones on the screen. My friend Wallace Fennel is the CEO.”

“And that’s how we get the police and their equipment to Canada,” Casey resumed. “We load them onboard one of the Starlifters, fly everything to the air base. We land on the runway, open up the cargo door in the back, drive the cars straight out, and invade.”

Sarah was quiet for a moment, staring at the screen. “That’s an audacious plan,” she finally said. “Pretty well thought out, too. But how do we avoid, oh, say, the Canadian Air Force?”

Casey smiled and tapped a finger against his temple. Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number and placed it on speakerphone. Sarah heard it ring, and then a moment later, there was a yawn, and an answer.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Anna Wu, Nerd Herder on call. How may I assist you?”

“Anna, John Casey. Sorry to call you so early.”

“John? What’s going on?”

“Listen. You were born in the United States, right?”

“Yeah…”

“How loyal are you to your home country?”

“Uh, I know the Pledge of Allegiance…”

“Good enough. Listen, if you were to get paid, oh, say, a hundred thousand dollars, how would you feel about doing a little hacking and planting some false but harmless information?”

Anna was silent for a moment. “What would I be hacking?”

“The databases of the Federal Aviation Administration and its Canadian counterpart. You’d be filing some false flight plans.”

“Well, that’d be easy enough,” Anna mused. “Federal databases have the WORST security. But why would I be filing false flight plans?”

“Um…” Casey thought for a moment, then apparently decided to go with the truth, or at least the partial truth. “Chuck’s been kidnapped by some Canadians, and the government’s not doing much to get him back, so we’re going to go after him.”

“Chuck’s been kidnapped?” Anna gasped. “Oh my God… does Morgan know?”

“No, and it would be best if it remained that way,” Casey replied. “The question is, will you help us?”

“For Chuck?” Anna replied. “Of course I will!”

“Okay,” Casey said. “What kind of encryption to you have on your e-mail?”

“15,360 bit RSA key.”

Casey’s eyes widened. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Paranoid much?”

“You can never be too careful, Johnny.”

He rolled his eyes. He hated being called Johnny. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll e-mail you what we need, and I’ll get you the details on the payment… um, shit, I’m scheduled this afternoon, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are. I’ll see you then?”

“Yeah. I’ll have details for you.”

Casey hung up, and turned to Sarah. “So?”

“You’ve got this pretty well planned, I’ll admit,” she said. “But what happens if Canada decides to declare war on the US in retaliation?”

Casey shrugged. “That’s the diplomats’ problem, not mine.”

---

8:30 A.M., Central Standard Time
Lac la Plonde Auxiliary Air Field, Saskatchewan, Canada

Chuck was having a weird, weird dream. Everything in the dream looked like it had been rotoscoped – cartoonized, as it were, just like in A Scanner Darkly.

He and Veronica were standing in the middle of a stage in a theatre. The theatre appeared to be empty, but then a spotlight snapped on. It didn’t shine on Chuck, though – it was something behind him.

He turned around, and there were Sarah, Casey, and Bryce – Sarah with her hands over her eyes, Casey with his hands over his mouth, Bryce with his hands over his ears. The voice of Director Graham rang through the theatre – “PRESENTING THE PINNACLE OF THE AMERICAN INTELLIGENCE SERVICES – SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL, HEAR NO EVIL!”

Chuck approached the three agents. “Please, guys, help us,” he begged them. “They have us trapped up here – they’re using us in a horrible way!”

Casey shook his head. He couldn’t speak. Bryce gave him a confused look – he couldn’t hear.

But Sarah spoke. “I’m sorry, Chuck,” she said quietly. “I can’t see you to help you.”

Frustrated, Chuck headed toward stage left – to find his way blocked by Mal Reynolds and Kaylee Frye. “You guys! You can help us!”

Mal shook his head – except it wasn’t really Mal, it was Nathan Fillion. “We can’t,” he said.

And it wasn’t Kaylee, either. It was Jewel Staite. “We’re Canadians,” she said. “Why would we go against our own people?”

“Because they’re doing terrible things!” Chuck exclaimed.

But as he watched, Nathan Fillion and Jewel Staite faded from view. He turned back to Veronica – she was now lying on the stage, her eyes closed, her arms folded across her chest. He looked to stage right –

Admiral Adama stood there. “Admiral Adama!” Chuck shouted. “Can you help us?!”

He just stared back at Chuck. “How do I know you’re not a Cylon?”

“What?!” shouted Chuck. “I’m not a Cylon!”

“He can’t hear you anymore, Chuck,” came a slightly Scottish sounding voice, as Adama faded from view. Chuck turned to his right – and the Doctor exited his TARDIS, a Dalek in tow. “You can’t escape, Chuck. This is your destiny.”

“No!” Chuck shouted. “This CAN’T be my destiny! I refuse to let it be my destiny!”

“Very well,” the Doctor said quietly. “Major Casey?”

Chuck whirled around, as Casey stepped forward. He removed his hands from his mouth – except he had no mouth. It was just blank flesh.

He reached down and lifted Veronica under her arms, pulling her up to a standing position. Her eyes remained closed.

“This is the consequence for your refusal to allow your destiny to run its course, Chuck,” the Doctor said, a cruel smile appearing on his face.

The Dalek turned its laser arm toward Veronica. “EX-TER-MI-NATE!”

“NO!” Chuck shouted, leaping in front of Veronica –

And his eyes popped open. He looked around wildly –

But Veronica was right there, her head resting on his shoulder. It was pretty clear that Chuck hadn’t actually said anything out loud, because she was still fast asleep.

He closed his eyes and replayed the events of the night before in his head. After their… required activities – he refused to think of it as love-making – he had gone directly to the shower, and when he got out, dressed in the pajamas he had discovered in the closet. When he came back out of the bathroom, he got into the bed. He fell asleep before Veronica finished in the shower.

At around two in the morning, quiet noises had awakened Chuck. It turned out to be Veronica, whimpering and softly saying, “Please, no,” in her sleep. Chuck had no idea what it was about, but had this horrible sinking feeling that it had something to do with him.

However, when he had reached over and touched her shoulder, her eyes fluttered open, she smiled up at him, and then rolled over toward him. Despite the fact that he would have preferred to sleep with as much of the bed between them as possible, he put his arms around her and held her as she fell back to sleep. He would rather she sleep peacefully – he’d deal with his guilty conscience another time.

But now, as he came to wakefulness again, he was still holding her in his arms. He felt a mixture of guilt and happiness – happiness because he had really not spent that much time with Veronica since he broke up with her at the beginning of May, and guilt because of how much this was going to hurt Sarah.

Chuck sighed. God, how he wished he could wake up from this nightmare.

Chuck In a Moment, Chapter 10: "Desire"

8:00 P.M., Central Standard Time
Sunday, July 12th, 2009
Lac la Plonge Auxiliary Air Field, Saskatchewan, Canada

Chuck and Veronica sat in the living room, as far away from each other as they could be and still sit on furniture. Season 2 of Battlestar Galactica was in the DVD player, but neither of them was really paying much attention.

They were both still fairly shell shocked from their encounter with Dr. Ducard that afternoon. Chuck couldn’t believe that any human being could be so horrible as he was. Veronica was just trying to wish it all away.

The semi-quiet of the room was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Chuck frowned, paused the DVD, and went to the door. He opened it, and Airman Reynard stood there, an apologetic look on his face.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” he said. “Doctor Ducard asked me to come by, and remind you that you have a job to do. He also asked me to remind you that there would be consequences if you didn’t follow through on the job.”

Chuck looked at the young man for a moment. He couldn’t have been any more than eighteen or nineteen. “Airman Reynard,” he said, “why are you here?”

Reynard looked confused. “This is where the Air Force sent me, sir.”

“But, I mean, why do you stay here, given what goes on?”

Reynard shook his head. “I don’t know what goes on here, sir. I don’t ask, they don’t tell.”

“I see,” Chuck mused. “In that case, do me a favor, go back to Doctor Ducard, and tell him the job’s already been taken care of.”

Reynard pursed his lips and shook his head again. “Sorry, sir, he told me to expect you to say that, and if you did say that, I was to tell you that he can tell whether or not it’s been done.”

Chuck sighed. “Of course the house is wired,” he whispered. He turned around and faced the living room. “You’re a real douchebag, Ducard!” he shouted, startling Veronica.

He turned back to Reynard. “Is there anything else, Airman?”

“Yes, sir,” Reynard said softly. “He asked me to remind you that the task needs to be accomplished at least once a day.”

“Once a – Jesus!” Chuck exclaimed. “Reynard, do you have any idea what it is that Ducard wants us to do?”

“No, sir,” Reynard replied. “I don’t want to know.”

Chuck nodded. “That’s probably for the best. Alright, you can go back to Doctor Douchebag, and tell him that it’ll be done before the night is out.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Chuck slowly swung the door shut, then turned back toward the room. He looked like a defeated man, his head hanging, his shoulders slumped.

He didn’t even look at Veronica, but rather just turned and headed into the bedroom. When Veronica followed him in there five minutes later, she found him laying face down on the bed, a pillow over his head.

“Chuck,” she said softly, sitting down on the bed next to him.

There was a muffled explosion from beneath the pillow. “This is SHIT!” Veronica heard.

She gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Chuck, you have a choice here.”

He sat up, the pillow flying off his head. Chuck looked at Veronica incredulously and shook his head. “I don’t have a CHOICE,” he replied.

“Doctor Ducard gave you two options,” Veronica said. “Two options means you have a choice.”

Chuck put a hand to his forehead. “Okay, let’s examine those options for a moment. Behind door number one – I can do something that I know will hurt my fiancée terribly, but which I know that she, more than anybody else I have ever known, will understand.”

“Why are you so sure Sarah will understand?” Veronica asked quietly.

Chuck sighed. “She was an intelligence operative for years,” he said. “She understands that sometimes… um… you use it as a tool. That it’s necessary.”

He shrugged. “I know she’ll understand. I know she’ll be hurt, but since door number two is doing nothing and allowing you, one of the people I care about most in this world, to die horrifically…”

Chuck looked up and looked Veronica in the eyes. “I don’t have a choice.”

Her eyes teared up, but she smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Chuck smiled too, a small smile, but still a smile that in and of itself told Veronica how much he cared about her. “Come here,” he said softly, reaching out an arm.

Veronica shifted over, allowing him to draw her to him and wrap her in a hug. She hugged him back, and then, after a moment, lifted her head. She gently kissed him on the cheek, then on the neck.

Chuck stiffened. “What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

“We have to do this, Chuck,” she replied, just as quietly. “But here’s the thing. If we’re going to, we should at least not make ourselves hate it, don’t you think?”

She felt Chuck sigh. He said nothing, did nothing, for at least a minute, and finally whispered, “Okay.”

He tilted his face down toward hers. Veronica closed her eyes as she felt Chuck’s lips gently meet her own.

---

7:10 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time
The home of Logan Echolls
Neptune, California

Sarah sat on a couch, trying not to think too much. Keith Mars and John Casey were hunched over a table, looking over the Balboa County Sheriff’s Department force structure, and trying to figure out what other agencies they could draw manpower from.

She knew that she should really be participating in the strategy session, but she felt sick. It wasn’t a nauseous type of sickness, either. It was the type of sickness you feel when you think that the person you love is cheating on you.

Sarah had no idea why she felt that way. Chuck was trapped on a remote air base in Saskatchewan. Who could he possibly be cheating on her with there?

Veronica Mars, her brain said accusingly.

Sarah shook her head to try to banish the thought from her mind, but it wouldn’t go away. Sighing, she leaned forward, resting her head in her hands.

“Hey,” she heard.

She looked up, and saw Logan Echolls standing there, a concerned look on his face. “Listen, I’m sure it’s not any of my business, but are you doing okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sarah sighed. “I’m just… I’m really worried about Chuck.”

“And I am really worried about Veronica,” Logan replied, “but that’s not just a look of concern that’s written all over your face. It’s also got a trace of jealousy, if I remember correctly from my ‘Guide to the Faces of Angry Women’.”

Sarah smiled briefly. “Yeah,” she said. “I just, I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing up there with her.”

Logan shook his head and sat down on the couch next to her. “What do you think he’s doing up there with her?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah admitted. “I just have a bad feeling about it.”

“Are you afraid he’s gonna cheat on you with her?” Logan asked Sarah. “Because, you know, I got to know Chuck pretty well in the months before you returned from the grave, and I don’t see him as doing that type of thing, like, ever.”

He stopped and sighed. “I can’t see Veronica doing something like that, either. The only way she would ever, EVER do that is if his life depended on it. And that seems like a fairly unrealistic scenario, don’t you think?”

Sarah nodded. “Yeah,” she replied. “That’s about the only circumstances I can see Chuck doing that under, too. I mean, if her life depended on it, I’m sure he would. I’d understand. I’d expect him to.”

Logan smiled. “Now, see, where were all the girls like you when I was in high school?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “In the Drug Enforcement Administration. I’m not saying that’s an invitation for him to go screw around with Veronica, I’m just saying that if her life somehow depended on it, I’d expect him to do the right thing.”

Logan gave her a curious look. “Those girls are in the DEA? What’s that supposed to mean?”

---

8:30 P.M., CST
Lac la Plonge

Chuck lay on his back, staring at the ceiling – just as he had been for the last five minutes.

The room was dark, and he couldn’t see anything. There was a reason for that. He had intentionally turned the lights off so that he wouldn’t see Veronica, couldn’t accidentally see himself in a mirror – because he didn’t think he could face her or himself right at the moment.

But she was still there next to him. Her head rested on his shoulder, and he could feel her breathing. He started unconsciously tracing circles on her bare back with his finger.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica whispered.

“Sorry for what?” he asked.

“For making you do this,” she replied, and he could hear that her voice was about to break. “For making you be unfaithful to Sarah.”

“Don’t,” Chuck whispered. “You will never have to apologize for making me do something that saves your life. Not now, not ever.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then said, “I’m sorry, though.”

“For what?” Veronica asked, lifting her head a little.

“For being so hesitant to do the right thing,” Chuck answered.

“No, no,” Veronica replied. “I don’t want you to ever apologize for being such a good person. Okay?”

“Okay.”

---

Martin Ducard leaned back in his office chair and rolled his eyes.

“God, what a couple of whiners,” he remarked. “Never in my life have I heard two people complain so much about sex.”

“That’s what happens when you put good people in a bad situation,” a voice said from the speakerphone.

“Sir, there’s no such thing as a good person or a bad person,” Ducard replied. “They’re just people.”

“You may have been at that place too long, Ducard. Anyway, I received the protest from the President.”

“And?”

“And I’m going to tell him to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine, along with a strongly worded statement about how dare he send four intelligence agents into my country.”

“Very good, Mr. Prime Minister.”

---

8:00 P.M., PDT
Neptune, California

Sarah’s phone began ringing. She removed it from her purse, and saw the CIA logo pop up on the screen. That meant it was Director Graham’s direct line.

She stepped outside the house, and hit a series of buttons. A moment later, the call connected.

“Walker, secure,” she said.

“This is Graham, secure,” he replied. “I see you’re in Neptune, Agent Walker. You’re not planning anarchy and mayhem, are you?”

“No, sir,” she replied. “Just informing Sheriff Mars of his daughter’s disappearance.”

Graham was quiet for a moment. “I really wish you hadn’t done that, Agent Walker.”

Sarah shook her head and rolled her eyes. “So I’m supposed to let the man believe that his daughter fell off the face of the planet?”

“Walker, I wish you hadn’t done that because Keith Mars has been known to create anarchy and mayhem when it suits his purposes.”

“Well, sir, maybe if we weren’t being a bunch of diplomatic candy-asses and actually doing something about the situation, he wouldn’t have to.”

Graham said nothing for so long that Sarah thought she’d lost him. Finally, though, he spoke again. “I know it’s difficult for you, with Bartowski being up there, but you have to be objective about this.”

“I CAN’T be objective about this, sir!” Sarah exploded. “This is not a mission. This is not Bryce Larkin with a Venezuelan agent in Cabo San Lucas. This is Chuck Bartowski, my Chuck, my fiancé, stuck in the goddamn middle of nowhere under the thumb of Fulcrum, who plans to do God-knows-what to him!”

Graham sighed. “I can recall you if need be, Agent Walker.”

“Then you will have my resignation, sir, and it will be PERMANENT this time.”

“Well, I don’t want that,” Graham replied. “Alright. Fine, you don’t have to be objective about it. I can understand your reasons why, even if I don’t agree with them. But you need to know that the Prime Minister of Canada basically told the President that he could take his diplomatic protest and shove it. He also had some things to say about four intelligence agents being in his country, even though the President tried to explain that it was really an analyst, a federal cop, and two agents – and that you were all on vacation.”

“Asshole,” Sarah muttered. “So what next?”

“Well, ordinarily, we’d recall our embassy staff, but that’s generally a prelude to war, and we are not going to war with Canada over a computer nerd with a super-brain and an FBI agent.”

Sarah sighed. “I understand, sir.”

“Good,” Graham said. “We’ll do everything we can, Walker, but please – behave yourself?”

“Of course, sir,” Sarah replied. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Chuck In a Moment, Chapter 9: "One"

1:10 P.M., Central Standard Time
Sunday, July 12th, 2009
near Beauval, Saskatchewan, Canada

As the Jeep Cherokee bumped along the dirt path, nobody spoke for the first couple minutes. But before they reached the end of the grid of cabins, Chuck’s curiosity got the best of him.

“Uh, if you’re allowed to tell me, where are we at?”

The two Canadian airmen looked at each other. Then, the one riding shotgun turned to Chuck. “Well, you’re not going to escape, and you have no way of communicating with the outside world, so there’s no harm in it, I suppose. You’re at Lac la Plonge Auxiliary Air Field. We’re an adjunct to Fifteen Wing at Canadian Forces Base Moose Jaw.”

The words Moose Jaw triggered a brief flash from the Intersect, but it was quick enough that Chuck’s momentary silence escaped notice. “So we’re up toward northern Saskatchewan, then,” he said.

The airman nodded. “Yeah, we’re right on the edge of the Canadian Shield,” he replied.

Chuck shook his head wryly. “I have no idea what that is, Airman…”

“Hernandez,” the airman replied. “And it’s actually Corporal.”

“Sorry about that,” Chuck replied. “I’m not familiar with US military insignia, let alone Canadian ones. Now, do you have any idea why we’ve been kidnapped by the Canadian Air Force?”

Corporal Hernandez looked uneasy. “Um… I’m afraid we can’t discuss that with you, sir. But, you should know, you’re our guest here. We’ll do everything we possibly can to make you comfortable.”

“Would that happen to include a cell phone and a computer with Internet access?”

Hernandez shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Sorry, sir, you should already know that that’s not possible. However, if you’re curious, your laptops are both in the cabin. They’re in the drawer of the coffee table in the living room. They have, of course, both had their wireless Internet cards removed, in addition to any other devices that could possibly be used for communication.”

Chuck sighed. “And thank you for voiding the warranty on my computer.”

Hernandez looked like he was going to say something more, but at that moment, the Jeep pulled up in front of one of the buildings in the complex. “We’re here.”

He and the other airman jumped out and opened the back doors. Chuck and Veronica both disembarked from the Jeep, and followed Hernandez into the building.

They were led down a hallway that smelled distinctly like a medical clinic. “Are we in the base hospital?” Chuck asked.

Hernandez laughed. “Hardly a hospital,” he replied. “There’s only ninety-five people total on the base, including both civilians and military personnel. It’s really closer to being an urgent care clinic than anything else. Real medical problems we take down to Moose Jaw.”

Ninety-five people, Chuck thought, filing the information away.

Hernandez opened a door, admitting Chuck and Veronica to a rather nicely appointed office. “Doctor Ducard will be right with you,” Corporal Hernandez told them. “If you need anything, Airman Reynard and I are right outside.”

He shut the door, leaving them alone in the doctor’s office. Chuck quickly looked around – no phone. What a surprise.

“We’re not getting out of here,” Veronica told him. “Just sit down and wait for this Doctor Ducard, whoever he is.”

The two sat down in the plush chairs facing Ducard’s desk. A couple minutes later, the door opened and he entered the office. “My apologies for my tardiness,” he said hurriedly upon entering the room. His voice held just a trace of a Quebecois accent. “Martin Ducard. It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bartowski, Agent Mars.”

Chuck gave him a look of displeasure and said, “You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand and shake your hand, Doctor Ducard. You see, I’m not generally accustomed to being taken somewhere against my will. I’m especially not pleased with the fact that I don’t know what the status of my friends who were with me in Vancouver is.”

Ducard raised an eyebrow and sat behind his desk. “I can assure you that Major Casey and Agent Walker are perfectly fine, Mr. Bartowski.”

Chuck closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Ducard replied. “Now, I imagine you’re both wondering why you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Veronica snarked. “Just a bit.”

“Well,” Ducard continued, “you’re both on a list of highly desirable individuals who we have been keeping track of for the last two years – Ms. Mars, you for your keen intellect and your nearly perfect genetic code; Mr. Bartowski, you, of course, for your prized ability as the Intersect.”

“’We’ being Fulcrum?” Chuck asked, a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

Ducard was clearly not expecting that question. “Indeed,” he finally said. “You see, the Prime Minister was the second in command of Fulcrum, and when the commander of Fulcrum disappeared ten days ago, he took control and decided to put the Humanity Project into motion.”

“The commander of Fulcrum disappeared ten days ago?” Chuck asked, somewhat curious.

“I believe you knew her as General Louisa Beckman,” Doctor Ducard replied.

Chuck and Veronica both shot out of their chairs. “SON OF A BITCH!” Veronica yelled, while Chuck said, “BECKMAN?!”

Ducard rose slowly, indicating with his hands that they should sit down. “Please, sit,” he said calmly. “We are here not to discuss General Beckman, but rather your role in the Humanity Project.”

“Okay,” Chuck said, returning to his seat. “I’ll bite. What’s the Humanity Project?”

Ducard smiled. “The Humanity Project was actually my brainchild,” he replied. “We made a target list of fifty individuals across Canada, the United States, and Mexico who we believed to be of nearly perfect genetic stock. We intend to use these fifty individuals to breed a new race of humans. Not to replace mankind, of course, but to make humans better.”

Chuck’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “Who the hell was your hero as a kid? Josef Mengele?”

Ducard cocked an eyebrow. “Among others,” he said. “I am a scientist, Mr. Bartowski. I think in terms of science.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Veronica interrupted. “Setting aside the fact that you’re one sick and damaged motherfucker, why in heaven’s name would you take me, being practically a midget, and not somebody like, say, Sarah Walker? I mean, she’s Amazon Warrior Woman, for God’s sake!”

Ducard nodded. “A valid question,” he said, ignoring Veronica’s insult. “We did consider Agent Walker. She is, as you indicated, a beautiful specimen of human being. However, here’s the difference between her and you. You, as you said, are short. That is controlled by a gene that can be switched on in vitro.”

“In vitro?” Veronica asked. “As in, in the womb?”

“Of course,” Ducard replied, looking completely serious. “As I said, we’re looking to breed a new race. Now, as far as Agent Walker goes, she seems to be perfect, but she does have one genetic defect.”

Chuck felt like the blood drained from his head. “What? What kind of genetic defect?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Bartowski, it’s not that serious. There is a variance in the seventeenth chromosome of her genetic makeup. It’s a tau protein called the H1 haplotype. This has been linked to individuals with a terminal disease known as Progressive Supranuclear Palsy. Now, the disease is extremely rare – only 1 in 17,000 people is diagnosed with it, and victims usually don’t experience onset until their mid-sixties. However, even the slightest risk of onset was enough to eliminate her from the program.”

Chuck shook his head. “I’m sure she’d be crushed to hear she escaped from your version of Auschwitz-Birkenau,” he spat.

Ducard was silent for a moment. “May I assume that you don’t approve of this project, Mr. Bartowski?” he finally asked.

“You may assume that,” Chuck replied. “This is sick. Humans are supposed to evolve and adapt, not be engineered.”

Ducard spread his hands. “This is evolution, Mr. Bartowski. This is the advancement of the human race. And to further that cause, you will be mating with Ms. Mars. We feel that –“

“THE HELL!” Veronica shouted, springing up from her chair.

“Ms. Mars, computer models have projected that your genetic stock combined with Mr. Bartowski’s will produce an individual who is tall, attractive, has excellent musculature, a high metabolic rate, low risk of chronic disease, and most importantly, the ability to retain subliminal education,” Ducard said patiently. “It’s a logical fit.”

Chuck looked at Ducard in disbelief. “You know what,” he finally said, “take my sperm, take Veronica’s eggs – whatever. But there’s not gonna be any ‘mating’.”

“Were it only that easy,” Ducard replied. “No, the copulation and conception must be performed naturally. The pregnancy must be carried naturally. Certain hormones are released during these acts that allow the fetus to develop in a more healthy manner.”

“I don’t think you get it,” Chuck replied with a harsh laugh. “I’m telling you, I’m refusing to be part of your monstrosity.”

“Do you now,” Ducard said, his voice low and dangerous. “Very well, Mr. Bartowski. Should you choose to continue your refusal, then I will dissect Ms. Mars alive, while you watch.”

A fist of horror and dread punched Chuck in the stomach. His jaw dropped open and the color drained from his face. “You – what?!”

Veronica had frozen in her chair in fear, but now, as she heard Chuck speak, she started to cry. “You can’t do this, you sick fucker!” Chuck shouted.

“Oh, but I can, and I WILL,” Ducard replied, a trace of anger finally appearing in his voice as he rose to his feet. “Now, Mr. Bartowski, you have a choice. You can either participate in this program and have sex with Ms. Mars, or you can watch as I torture and kill her. What’s it gonna be?”

Chuck rose to his feet as well. “You are an evil bastard, and I hope you rot in hell,” he said softly, leaning in to Ducard. Then he leaned back, pulled his right hand back, and punched Ducard in the face as hard as he could.

Ducard staggered backward and collapsed to the floor. When he looked up, his nose was bleeding, but there was a smile on his face. “Can I take that as a yes, Mr. Bartowski?”

“Just to be clear, I’m not doing it for the benefit of your ungodly project,” Chuck snarled. “I’m doing it so that you don’t kill her.”

And with that, he took Veronica by the hand, wrenched the door open, and guided her out of the office. Airman Reynard quickly stepped out in front of them, guiding them out of the building. Corporal Hernandez looked into Ducard’s office, shook his head, and walked off after Chuck.

When they got in the Jeep, Hernandez looked back at Chuck and Veronica in the back seat. Veronica was still crying softly, and Chuck’s hands were shaking in anger. “I’m really sorry about all this,” Hernandez said quietly.

Chuck looked up at him, rage in his eyes. “Why the hell are you even part of ‘all this’?” he asked, a quiet fury in his voice.

Hernandez had to look away from Chuck. “I’m just following orders.”

“That didn’t work at Nüremberg, Corporal,” Chuck said bitterly. “I can assure you it’s not gonna work here.”

---

6:15 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Portofino Yacht Club
Redondo Beach, California

The host showed Sarah and Casey to the table they had requested. The two men they had asked to meet them there were already waiting.

Logan Echolls rose from his seat. “Sarah Walker, John Casey, this is Keith Mars, Balboa County Sheriff,” he said, introducing the shorter, balding man seated next to him.

Sheriff Mars rose and shook their hands. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said. “I understand you wanted to meet with me and Supervisor Echolls regarding something?”

Sarah nodded, and sat down slowly. The three men followed suit.

“Mr. Mars,” Sarah began.

“Please, call me Keith,” he interrupted.

“Alright,” she said, forcing a smile. “Keith, yesterday morning, while crossing the border from Vancouver to Seattle, your daughter and my fiancé were kidnapped by a domestic terrorist organization known as Fulcrum.”

Keith Mars’ eyes went wide. “My daughter… Veronica… she’s been kidnapped?”

“I’m afraid so, sir,” Casey said. “We have no idea why. We know where she’s being held, though.”

“So let’s go get her!” Mars said, springing to his feet.

“It’s not that easy, sir,” Sarah replied sadly. “Otherwise, you can believe I would’ve been there the instant we knew.”

Mars looked at his feet. “Of course,” he said quietly.

Then he looked at Sarah a little more closely. “What’s your fiancé’s name?”

Sarah realized she was treading on thin ice here. “Uh, it’s Charles Bartowski.”

Keith Mars’ darkened. “I am very tempted to say he can rot,” he said. “After the crap he has pulled on my daughter –“

“Come on, Sheriff, you used to say the same thing about me,” Logan interrupted. “Now look at us, working together.”

“Okay, listen,” Casey said, finally beginning to lose his patience. “I understand that there’s a lot of emotions here, and a lot at stake. However, here’s the long and short of it: they’re being held at a Canadian military base, and if the United States government goes in there, it’s an act of war.”

He paused to let that sink in for a moment, and then continued. “So what we need is a group of heavily armed private citizens.”

He turned to Keith Mars, with a smile on his face. “Sheriff Mars, how many men are on your force, and what other police contacts do you have?”